


The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Community: trekmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise’s traditionally adult-oriented Christmas celebration is interrupted by a bunch of kids. Just another challenge for the most resourceful crew in the ‘fleet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Happy Trekmas gift to yetanothermask, who wanted “hilarity at an Enterprise party.” I can't promise it’s hilarious, but there _is_ a party…

“What do you mean, Christmas is illogical?”

“I do not think that my words could be plainer, Captain.”

“But it’s a celebration of life and rebirth, a happy time!”

“As is the Lohlunat on Risa, or the Andorian festival of Tek’lás. Regardless of origin, holidays are, in general, excuses to shirk one’s duty, which is, inherently, illogical.”

Jim chased a cherry tomato around his salad plate with his fork. “Ah, yes, but even Vulcans celebrate holidays - _Kal Rekk,_ that’s a holiday.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “ _Kal Rekk_ is a day of deep, personal reflection and atonement. Are you seriously suggesting that the bedecking of halls and the festooning of conifers with colorful adornments represents a time of rigid self-examination for humans?”

Jim grinned and wiped his mouth. “Nah – we just like to get presents.”

 _“Bridge to Captain Kirk,”_ came Uhura’s voice over Jim’s comm unit.

He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Kirk here.”

“Sir, there’s a communication coming in for you from Admiral Barnett. Shall I send it to you now?”

“No, I’ll take it in my Ready Room, Lieutenant. Kirk out.” He looked at Spock. “What do you suppose it could be, Mister Spock?”

“I would not presume to speculate upon the motives of the Admiralty.”

“A simple ‘I don’t know’ would also serve,” Jim pointed out, standing. He cocked his head to the door and Spock rose as well, accompanying him to the lift.

\----

“Captain, Commander, good afternoon,” Barnett said in his usual brusque manner.

“Sir,” Jim replied, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Barnett glanced off to the side of the screen, making Jim’s heart race just a bit. Whatever it was, Barnett was loath to tell him. “It’s a matter of some delicacy.” 

Jim schooled his expression into something as neutral as he could make it. “Oh?” His mind whirled with what their next assignment could be – dicey trade negotiation? Would they be sent on a top secret mission to the edge of the Neutral Zone?

“Brightstar Academy – are you familiar with it?” Barnett asked.

“It is a private primary and preparatory school in San Francisco,” Spock supplied, “where many of the Federation’s leaders send their children for their education. It is quite exclusive.”

Jim looked back at Spock, who was standing behind his chair so they could both be seen by the Admiral, and was slightly amazed – did he know _everything_?

Spock shrugged. “There was talk of my attending the school when I was young,” he explained.

Jim filed the image of a preppy Spock under _things to be thought of later_ and looked back at Barnett. “What’s this school got to do with us? We’re several weeks out from Earth, sir.”

“Yes, but you’re one day from Alpha Taurii IV, which is where several of the school’s students have been traveling for the last two weeks. There’s been… an _incident_ , shall we say, with the private charter they took to the planet, and they’re all stranded.”

Jim laughed out loud. “Are you saying you’re sending the fleet’s flagship to an out of the way backwater because some school field trip’s bus broke down?”

Barnett somehow managed to look simultaneously angry and chagrined, not a mean feat. “Essentially.”

“Could not the school make alternative arrangements?” Spock asked.

“They probably could,” Barnett snapped. “But when the President of the Federation Council’s niece is stranded in the back of beyond at Christmas, apparently such logical conclusions can never be drawn, Commander.”

“Ah,” Jim said, understanding immediately – Barnett had likely made a similar point and had his ass handed to him very recently. “So where are we to escort the little tykes?”

“To Risa, where their parents will be waiting to pick them up, and as expeditiously as is practical, Captain. And if you make it there by the New Year, there’s a week’s shore leave on Risa in it for your crew.”

Jim blinked, suddenly not minding the use of his ship and crew as a tour bus. “That’s very kind of you, Admiral. We’ll change course and make for Alpha Taurii IV immediately.”

“Thank you, Captain, we’ll transfer the details to you in a few.”

The admiral signed off and Jim looked up at Spock again. “I guess we’ll need to lay in a course.”

Spock inclined his head. “At Warp 6, we will arrive at Risa within five days. I’ll inform Mister Sulu immediately.”

“I’ll do that – you need to go and tell the ‘Fun Committee’ that there needs to be a slight change in focus for the crew’s holiday party.”

“Such news is likely to provoke extreme disappointment,” Spock pointed out. 

Jim smirked – rumors of the debauched blow-out that Bones and Scotty were planning in their attempts to outdo themselves from previous years had already reached epic proportions. “Indeed, Mr. Spock. And who better to deliver the news than you, who are so skilled in diplomacy and negotiation?” 

Spock’s left eye twitched slightly, a sure sign of annoyance, but he inclined his head and left the Ready Room, presumably to break the news. 

Jim almost felt ashamed for pawning it off on him, but only for a second – better Spock should draw the combined ire of his Chief Engineer and CMO than himself.

\----

“I’m telling you it’s perfect.”

“And I’m tellin’ ye it needs somethin’ more. It’s got no depth of flavor, no _umph,_ no body.”

“Is that code for more whisky? Because if it is –“

“Just because I’m a Scot, it doesn’a mean I’m a depraved alcoholic, Doctor,” Scotty said, a hand on his chest, aggrieved.

“Oh, I’m sorry, have I offended? I didn’t mean only to _imply_ you were an alcoholic.”

Scotty’s expression darkened. “Hey!” 

“Gentlemen,” Spock said, interrupting them. After much inquiry, he had finally found them in the ship’s galley. 

“Commander!” Scotty said. “Kindly explain to McCoy here how important the balance of flavors in aged egg nog is, the need to adjust and readjust – the fermentation – “

“Damn it man, I’m a doctor, I know the microbiology better’n you. And what are you appealing to this Visigoth for? Vulcans don’t even drink.”

Spock stepped past them to the vast container they were squabbling over, took the ladle Scotty held, and served himself a sample. Swirling it around in his mouth thoughtfully, he swallowed, reached for a container on a nearby shelf, and threw a hefty pinch of a white, powdery substance into it. The other two men squawked as they reached to stop him, but they were too late – Spock had moved too quickly. Ignoring them, Spock stirred the nog, pulled out another sample and let them each try it. 

“It was in need of salt,” Spock informed them. 

“Not bad,” Scotty said, and McCoy grudgingly agreed, though not without muttering, “Meddling Vulcan,” first.

“Now that your dubious culinary experimentation is at an end, I must speak with you both on a matter of some importance,” Spock informed them. When he had their attention, he told them about the unexpected detour and the fact they’d be taking on approximately a dozen new passengers.

“Ah jeez, not a bunch of squallin’ brats?” McCoy protested. 

“That puts a wrench in the party plans,” Scotty added. “The boys and I’ve been working on a naughty version of the Twelve Days of Christmas for weeks. There are even props.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and suppressed a shudder at the thought of what all the maids-a-milking and lords-a-leaping might have got up to. “You will need to edit yourselves.”

“I guess that means we’ll need to put this lot away too,” McCoy mused, indicating the nog. “It’s too bad – another day or so and it’ll be perfect.”

“As long as you keep your mitts off it,” Scotty pointed out.

“Now just one minute!” McCoy protested.

Spock walked out of there before things came to blows, which he calculated to be a 92.45% probability.

\----

Jim and Spock waited in Transporter Room 2 with those crewmembers who had been conscripted to keep an eye on the children during the next five days, as well as a grumpy Doctor McCoy, who wanted to run basic medical scans on them following their time on the planet, because “kids are like a great big petri dish for every disease known to mankind – makes me cringe just thinkin’ about it.”

The children – ten human, one Risan, and an Andorian – ranged in ages from what looked to be about 7 to 14 in standard Earth years; five male and seven female. Their chaperone, a Miss April, was among the last to be beamed up, clutching the hand of the smallest child. She rushed forward towards the Captain, and though she was just over a meter and a half tall, Spock stepped instinctively in front of him.

“I don’t think there’s any risk here, Commander,” Jim chided, and Spock stepped back, slightly embarrassed, but keeping an eye on her nonetheless. 

Jim turned his attention to Miss April and her young charges. “Welcome to the Enterprise, I’m Captain Kirk. This is my first officer, Commander Spock.”

Spock noticed that some of the children were already staring; while he would allow the sight of a Vulcan in Starfleet was a novelty – other races were much better represented in the service – surely these children of diplomats and planetary leaders should have been more worldly. Or at least well-mannered. He resisted the impulse to raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t know how to thank you for coming to pick us up!” Miss April said. She was aesthetically pleasing, Spock thought – an opinion apparently shared by both the Captain and McCoy, both of whom straightened their spines noticeably when she began speaking. “The charter company was saying it would be _weeks_ before we’d make it home. And at _this time of year_! It was more than could _be borne_!!”

“Yes, well, it was a good thing we could come to your rescue,” Jim replied, and then smiled winningly at her. 

A _harrumph_ from McCoy got Jim’s attention. “This is our ship’s chief medical officer, Doctor McCoy. He’ll be clearing you all through sickbay before showing you to your quarters.”

Miss April craned her neck up. “Oh my, aren’t you tall?” she said, blinking at him an inordinate amount; Spock wondered if she might have contracted some sort of conjunctival infection and took a step back.

“Y-yes, well, it runs in the family,” McCoy stammered. “Shall I escort you to sickbay?” He held his elbow out at a 23⁰ angle from his body and she slipped her free hand within the bend of it. 

They all turned to go, Spock waiting beside the door to allow the others to precede him. As Miss April and the small girl whose hand she still held passed, he saw the child pull on her teacher’s hand. 

“Miss! Miss!” she whispered quite loudly.

Miss April paused, bending over to speak to the child. “Yes?”

The child – no more than seven and small for her age – regarded Spock with large, blue eyes. “Is that a elf?”

Miss April glanced back at Spock apologetically. “Of course not! Cindy, you say such things,” she chastised her, hurrying the child along the hallway. Spock couldn’t resist winking at the girl when she glanced back at him, however, and tapping the side of his nose with a wink.

\----

“I don’t understand vhy ve must redecorate?” Chekov said to Sulu. The two were gently unearthing a large Douglas fir that had been planted in a section of the ship’s arboretum. It was not the biggest specimen, but Sulu judged that it would fit the space in the rec room fairly well.

“No, cut the spade this way,” Sulu instructed him, easing his own down along the side of the tree’s root ball, then answered Pavel’s question, “Because decking the halls with boughs of inflated condoms isn’t exactly the kind of wholesome family vibe we want to be selling with a group of kids around.”

A few more shoves here and tugs there, and the tree gave way. They manhandled it into the large planter they’d prepared, which they had already hefted onto an antigrav dolly.

“You know, Christmas trees vere inwented in Russia,” Chekov informed Sulu as they finally arrived at the large, industrial turbolift in the aft portion of the ship – they’d have to take the long way around to get the tree up four decks and to the rec room.

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t, Pav,” Sulu replied. 

“The angel on the tree, zen.”

“Sure, if you like.”

The tree was too tall for the lift and needed to be tilted in its planter in order for it to fit. Both men held to the heavy planter fast as the lift moved way too slowly. Sulu fervently hoped he wouldn’t herniate anything. They maneuvered it to the rec room where a couple of engineers took it off their hands and set it up in the far corner, near the view ports. 

Sulu eyed the decorations in the hall and marveled at the crew’s ability to improvise. Gone were the beer bottle menorahs and inflatable sex dolls dressed as Santa’s helpers, replaced by what looked like a fair approximation of pine garland and evergreen wreaths. It wasn’t until Sulu got closer to these that he noticed they were made out of impossibly tiny, interlocking filaments and were entirely artificial. He touched one – it was improbably light, almost fragile.

“You like?” Sulu turned to find Scotty standing behind him. “It’s amazing what a bit o’ nanopolymer and glue can do.” He was referring to the raw materials the ship’s replicators used to formulate inorganic material such as dishes and uniforms. “Completely recyclable, too.”

“You’ve outdone yourself, Scotty,” Sulu marveled. 

“I still think there’s way too much mistletoe,” a voice to their right said, and both men turned to acknowledge Lt. Uhura, who was staring at the ceiling dubiously. Sprigs of replicated mistletoe hung from red ribbons at three foot intervals throughout the large space.

“Well, their placement _did_ have a purpose at one point,” Scotty pointed out.

“Yes, well, I don’t think a bunch of crew making out in front of the kids will be a very good idea. Maybe move it to the entryways?”

“I’ll handle it,” Sulu agreed and moved off to find a ladder.

“The tree looks very fine over there,” Uhura said to Scotty.

“The lads picked a good one. All it needs is the decorations.” 

“I’ll see to it.”

“Oh, and we’ll probably need presents to put beneath it as well.”

Uhura looked queasy all of a sudden. “What did you say?”

“Presents – just need a few to put under the tree, so it looks nice. I’m sure it won’t be a problem – we can wrap up some empty boxes or something.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking of – it’s the kids. They won’t have any presents to open from Santa!”

“Most of ‘em are probably too old to believe, surely?”

“That’s not the point, Scotty - they’re all really far from home – they’ll want to have something to open! Wouldn’t you?”

“I’ll take care of it, lass – don’t you worry.” He moved off and called his engineers to him, bellowing something about an important mission before leaving the room.

\----

“Why do _I_ have to be Santa?” Jim protested, coming very close to sounding like he was whining, he realized too late.

“Because the costume fits you better’n me,” Bones told him, pulling the red suit closed around Jim’s middle. “There – you fill it out nicely,” he added with a smile, patting Jim’s belly.

Jim pushed his hands away. “Stop that! Kirk men are naturally strapping!”

“Is that what they’re calling it now? I thought it was too much pie at Thanksgiving. And every night since then.” 

“Shut up, Bones. Anyway, surely there’s someone else who can do it.”

“There is no one we can trust to do it, Jim. As the co-chairman of the Fun Committee, I’m afraid it’s my duty to inform you –“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ve been plotting this for ages haven’t you?”

“It was actually Scotty’s idea.”

“Remind me to demote the pair of you when this is over. Oh my god – what’re those?”

“The pants and suspenders. Gotta look the part, Jim.”

“I’ll wear my own pants, thank you – it’s bad enough I have to wear that scratchy beard.”

“You’ll look darling, I promise.”

“Who uses words like ‘darling,’ anyway?”

“Shut up. Besides, all the girls like a jolly old elf – they’ll all want to sit on your lap.”

“Keep selling it, old man – someone might be buying. Just not me.”

“Come on, Jim – you have to do it – there’s no one else.”

Jim sighed. “Fine. I will do it for one hour. How long does it take to hand out a few presents to those kids, anyways?” He thought a moment. “Hey – do we even _have_ presents?”

“I’m told it’s all taken care of.”

\----

“Ye call that a phaser?” Scotty strode over to Ensign Bowman, who held up a toy replica of a standard issue phaser. “It’s yellow!”

“Well, we don’t want anyone to mistake it for the real thing, do we?”

Scotty’s scowl softened somewhat. “I suppose not, laddie. Carry on.” 

Next, Scotty stalked over to a yeoman who was assembling a pair of toy Constellation class starships. “What have we here, Lane?” he asked gruffly.

The young man looked up at him, startled. “I remembered we had these outdated specs for the Con-classes in the ship’s computer, so I scaled them back and fabricated the bits for myself. Look, Chief!” He picked up a fully assembled one from beneath the counter and flipped a small switch; the deflector dish lit up and began to spin lazily, and the nacelles glowed a warm red. 

“Passable, lad, very passable,” Scotty muttered, but he was pleased when he moved on. As usual, his team was not disappointing him, no matter the challenge he set to them.

He moved on to the next station where a young woman was bent over what looked like a food replicator from the officer’s mess. “What’ve we got here, Ensign Brodowski?”

“Lego,” she said with a proud smile, removing two dozen small, rectangular pieces of plastic from inside. “I adapted the replication matrix to accept nanopolymers and programmed in the specs from memory – rewired a few things and hey presto – Lego!”

Scotty looked at her with wide eyes, momentarily speechless. He took one of the brightly-colored tiles in his hand to inspect it – it was completely as he’d remembered them as a child, right down to the tiny logo. “Carry on!” 

By the time he got to the end of the line of hastily-assembled work benches in Main Engineering, he was proud of the sheer ingenuity his team had shown in fabricating toys and gifts for the children. He beamed at Lt. Uhura, who stood waiting for him. “I believe we’ll have the gifts covered for the wee ones, Lieutenant,” he said proudly.

Her unflinching gaze swept over the results and she nodded appreciatively. “Looks good, but what about some softer toys?”

“Eh?”

“You know, like stuffed animals, puzzles, games. Not all the children are going to be into spaceships and playing cops and robbers, you know. “

Scotty frowned, scratching the top of his head; he hadn’t considered that at all. He turned back to his staff and called out, “Any o’ you lot know how to sew?”

\----

“Is my hat on straight?” Jim asked, looking at Spock inquisitively.

There went the eyebrow. “You know very well that it is not.”

“Good. How do I look?”

Spock gave him an appraising look. “I do not think that Saint Nicholas is typically depicted with his pants _quite_ so tight, Captain.”

Jim looked down at himself. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t goin’ out there wearing old man trousers. Are those the gifts?”

Spock held out a large cloth bag. “Indeed.”

Jim slung it over his back. “Come on, Spock, celebrate – it’s Christmas Eve.”

“I shall celebrate in my own way, through contemplation and meditation.”

“It would also do for you to spend some time with the crew, don’t you think?”

“I fail to see how my presence will enhance anyone’s enjoyment of the festivities, but I will endeavor to do so.”

It was Jim’s turn to raise an eyebrow, which was hard with the white fuzz stuck to it. “That means spending more than ten minutes looking on disdainfully from the perimeter, Spock, or do I need to make it an order?”

If his Vulcanness would have allowed him to get away with it, Jim was certain Spock would have scowled. Instead, he inclined his head in acquiescence.

“Aces! Now do me a favor and get the door? This bag’s heavier than it looks.”

\----

Little more than an hour later, Jim stood to the side, watching some of the children as they played with their toys, laughing and chattering. 

He felt the same sense pride in his crew that he often did, but usually it was because they had fought off a Klingon battle cruiser or found a cure for a devastating pandemic. This victory was a lot smaller than those, but no less sweet. 

“You lose the Santa get-up already?” McCoy said at his elbow. 

Jim turned to accept the cup of nog the doctor held out for him. “I somehow managed to tear a big hole in the thing,” Jim admitted. 

Bones raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say?” he drawled.

“Nice decorations this year.” Jim pointed his chin at the makeshift Christmas tree.

“Oh that? Uhura sent a shipwide communication out that we needed decorations, so everyone on board pitched in.”

“Who knew foil condom wrappers were so festive when strung together?” Jim pointed out.

“Well – sometimes you just have to make do. Besides, in this low light, you can hardly tell.”

“True. I have to say I like the twinkle lights. I trust those hypo cartridges were unused?”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Of course they were – what do you take me for?”

Jim grinned and held up his cup of nog to clink their glasses together, then took a sip. 

“What do you think?” McCoy asked.

“You’ve outdone yourselves this year, Bones.”

“Can’t take all the credit. There’s Scotty.” McCoy called the chief engineer over.

“Scotty, I must commend you and your team on the gifts – these children couldn’t be happier, given they’re lightyears away from their families.”

Scotty flushed appreciatively at the praise. “Thank you, Cap’n. Couldn’t’ve done it without my team.”

“I think my favorite thing was the stuffed _sehlat_ – I find it interesting it was made out of the tartan of the Scott clan.”

Scotty’s face turned red. “Yes, well, I had to make do wi’ what I had, didn’t I?”  
Jim grinned. 

“Don’t tell my mother!” Scotty begged before taking McCoy with him to oversee the Secret Santa gift exchange.

Jim wandered around the party for a little while longer, accepting well wishes and doling them out as well. By the time he reached the far end of the rec room, he realized he’d missed someone.

“Yeoman Rand,” he called to his assistant when he’d spotted her. “Have you seen Commander Spock lately?”

“Yes sir, I saw him leave not too long ago. He went that-a-way.” She giggled as she pointed at a nearby door. 

Jim thanked her and turned away, frowning. He clearly DID have to make R&R an order when it came to his first officer, he thought. He knew Spock was a Vulcan and therefore not as susceptible to stress as humans, but he really wished the man would take a break to refresh his energies. He’d have to talk to him once this mission was done – they had shore leave coming up, after all.

Could he mandate fun?

Shaking his head, he walked down the corridor, but before he got too far, he heard a familiar voice talking softly. Following it, he found himself standing outside a small lounge that was typically used for smaller receptions when the ship was transporting VIPs. Inside, seated on the floor in the lotus position, surrounded by about half of the school children, was Spock. He held up an old-fashioned picture book, his fingers fanned behind it and holding it to the side so that he could simultaneously read and show the illustrations to the assembled children. The smallest girl – Cindy, Jim remembered her name – sat curled up against Spock’s side.

_"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!_  
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!  
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!  
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!" 

Jim blinked. He blinked again, and then he just listened. Spock’s voice was low and mellifluous, soothing. He read with conviction and feeling, even using a deeper voice as he read in Saint Nicholas’ voice. And on his head, someone had placed a red Santa hat. 

When he was done, the children clapped enthusiastically, and one of them begged for him to read it again.

“I do not think that is wise – I have already read it twice, and you are overdue for your sleeping interval.” He stood. “Come, I will escort you to your quarters before Miss April learns of your misbehavior.”

“Awww!” the children whined, but they all got to their feet and began to follow Spock from the room. 

Jim stood back to let them pass.

“Captain.” Spock greeted him with as much dignity as a Vulcan with a Santa hat on his head could muster. 

“Commander,” Jim said, nodding.

Jim fell into step beside Spock and they escorted the children to the quarters they’d been assigned. Jim suppressed a grin as Spock oversaw the brushing of teeth and other ablutions before seeing to it that each child was safely stowed within a bunk. He then lowered the lights and they left the room together.

“You have the manner of someone who would speak his mind, Captain,” Spock observed.

Jim thought that was an understatement – he was practically bursting with the urge to laugh out loud, but was reining it in with an effort. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I thought Christmas was illogical, Mr. Spock.” 

“Oh it is, Captain, inherently. But it does not follow that I would not observe the celebration of it myself. My mother was from Earth, as you know.”

Jim nodded

“She had a longstanding practice of reading ‘A Visit from Saint Nicholas’ aloud to me when I was a boy. Its familiarity, I find, holds a certain appeal. I surmised the children would enjoy it as well.” 

“Tradition, Spock? You?” Jim asked.

“To honor one’s progenitors is not without precedent, Captain. Therefore, upholding such a ‘tradition’ as you call it, can harm nothing.” 

Jim decided to let this slight bit of hypocrisy drop. “You’re a singular man, Spock, and one of many secrets.” 

“Many more than you will be able to ascertain, I am confident.” 

“Shall we go and have some more nog before it’s all gone then?” 

“It would not be Christmas without it.”

\----

Thank you for your time, and Happy New Year.

You can also find me on Tumblr @rabidchild67, I hope you'll consider following me there.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a recipe  for the Aged Egg Nog that Scotty and Bones fight over.


End file.
